Tropas Sopas
by Anime Borat
Summary: Troop Soup. Soup and the Cold War collide as we join Mason, Hudson, and Weaver on a mission to save the world from ruthless Commies and there plot to rule the world.
1. Team Expendable

**Tropa Sopas**

Hi, everyone. Here's another Call of Duty fan story. Set in the after the events of Black Ops, of course. Based on a wordplay I've got hanging in my mind. Tropas means troops in Spanish and Sopas means soup in Spanish too. From that I've whipped up an insane brew of comedy involving Black Ops and soup.

**Chapter 1- Team Expendable**

_1969, 0459 Hours, somewhere near Cuba_

Our heroes, Alex Mason; Jason Hudson and Grigori Weaver, are now going to Cuba to stop the evil commies from plotting to take over the world. Hudson briefed them on the way aboard the Huey. They are enjoying a leisurely cruise over the water, listening to Rolling Stones. It will be sundown soon and the team planned to land before dark.

"There's been a lot of activity here in Cuba around the Mariposa Airbase," Hudson explained to Mason and Weaver.

"What's Langley's prerogative in there?" Mason asked.

"It seemed the Cubans are researching a new kind of weapon with Soviet aid," Hudson said ominously with epic music.

"Oh really?" Weaver's skeptical, "how are they gonna do that? All they make are cigars, rum and pineapples."

"Shut up, Weaver," Hudson snapped, "you're ruining the best part."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled.

Hudson turned back to Mason, "Okay, here's what our contact gave us." He gave Mason a picture of a massive giant fantasy hacienda surrounded by heavily-armed guards.

"What's this?"Mason asked.

"The research facility," Hudson answered. "It seemed Castro has given this project a lot of backing."

"Yeah," Weaver added, "It looks something from Candy Land."

No joke, considering that the hacienda is white with rainbow swirls. In it are fanciful murals of fantasy... things. Whoever made it probably built Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. It came fully equipped with blood-red lollipops, cherry red cobblestones, lemon drop stone walls, chocolate trees and whatever kiddy stuff came into the architect's mind.

"Well..." Hudson said awkwardly, "this place seems to be based on Dr. Seuss..." The ice cube simply couldn't imagine something as hallucinogenic as this._ Probably built for those fucked-up hippies_, he thought.

"Well, commies couldn't get shittier than this." Weaver laughed. "If there so great about equality, I should wipe my ass with pages of Marx's _Das Kapital_ and _Communist Manifesto_ with no probelms."

"And here's more," Hudson added taking some photos of from a manila envelope. "These guys are the top dogs connected to the project." He handed the pictures for them to look at.

The first one is a man wearing a the uniform of a prestigious chef. He looked like he was making souffle in a busy kitchen.

"This man is the head of the head of the project, Francisco Hernandez, known as Sopas Chef. He graduated top of his class from the Ritz Escoffier , '56, and the Ecole du Cordon Bleu , '57. He served Castro's guerrilla campaign, providing food for his revolutionaries and killing several high-ranking Batista regime officials with enhanced food poisoning. Before volunteering for project, he served as Castro's personal chef."

"Wow, this guy's loaded," Mason commented.

"Yawn," Weaver yawned mockingly. "So what? Castro's chef got balls? I like to see that."

"Here's the another picture." Hudson fished out another one. It's a picture of a hot Latina girl with a pair of pistols. In the picture she's in a bombed-out village during the Spanish Civil War. On the ground are scores of Spanish Nationalist troops with holes on the their foreheads.

"The woman is Maria Andrea Fuentes. She fought on the Republican- that is Leftist- side during the Spanish Civil War. Fuentes is so good with the pistol that General Franco, the leader of the Nationalist forces, instituted a bounty for her head."

"Wow, she's hot," Weaver's eyes widened to the size of saucepans. "She's working with Castro too?"

"Yes... cause she's his auntie." Hudson replied dryly. Weaver had a brain fart. That was such a shocking surprise.

Ignoring Weaver, Hudson fished out a third picture, a Russian officer who stood in attention near the statue of Lenin, who looked like he's covering his ears. He said, "This man here is the KGB's liaison officer to the project, Radomir Shovsky. Formerly a music student from the Saint Petersburg Conservatory in Leningrad, he was picked by the KGB after he was kicked out of music school due to his... bad voice. He became an interrogation officer where he had a reputation in the gulags for making prisoners spell their secrets and their bladders. He does it by singing."

"Singing?" Mason asked dubiously.

"Yes," Hudson answered, "he does that. He was promoted as a the go-between the Cubans and Russians concerning the project. He was denied promotion and assignment to several KGB posts back home, due to his singing voice and reject mentality."

"Reject mentality?" Weaver asked, "What for?"

"He requested to be a member of KGB's domestic intelligence service on political subversives on the culture. He was denied because he planned to use that position to get rid of his former classmates from music school. They feared he would destroy Soviet musical prowess with that and his voice."

"Oh, what does his voice sound like?" Mason asked inquisitively.

Hudson shuddered a bit. "Uh, you don't want to know."

"I wanna know," Mason demanded.

"No, Mason. Not now."

"But I wanna know!" Mason cried like a baby. Weaver punched and calmed him down.

"Better," Hudson commented as he fished it a fourth photo. It featured a man with a bush hat and and khakis. "This man," he pointed out, "is the Dingo. He is an expert assassin with a reputation well known throughout intelligence agencies throughout the world. It's widely believed that he orchestrated President Kennedy's assassination and used Oswald as the fall guy. Tonight we collect his ass." Mason suddenly remembered that _he_ killed Kennedy so he whistled away a tune like nothing happened.

Ignoring him, Hudson took out picture no. 5 of a sinister-looking man in a dirty blue jumpsuit with his hands clasped in an evil pyramid. "This individual here is El Mechanico. An genius in design and technology, he is believed to have helped build an ultimate weapon involving far greater than anyone could ever imagine. But the project is buried so deep that we can't tell for certain about what it is."

"And how did we get this info?" Mason asked curious.

"I don't know for sure but he was a top security man who wanted to go to Miami and set up a restaurant. He told us that he was able to obtain this info by sleeping with Castro." That earned him odd looks from his teammates.

"He... did... that?" Weaver stammered, couldn't quite believing his ears.

"Yes," Hudson said firmly, "yes he did."

"What kind of people do you recruit for contacts?" Mason asked.

"All sorts of people," Hudson replied, "And this is the last time we will be discussing their private lives."

So they didn't. They picked another picture of a North Korean guy with big ass swords. "This man here is Kim Ass-Fung, an elite assassin on loan from the North Koreans. He's a ninja who open a can of whoop-ass on anybody."

Weaver leaned over to to look at the picture and grinned. "What's so special about besides opening a can of whoop-ass?"

"He chopped of the nuts of several French guys when he flew over to Vietnam to support Ho Chi Minh's war effort. And he cooked them for his dogs." Hudson explained. Weaver squirmed and shielded his nuts with both hands.

Photograph number seven appeared with a German officer. "Heinz Schutze, An escaped SS officer who's an expert in torture, taking the place of Friedrich Steiner as token Nazi."

"He must die!" Mason screamed in rage.

"Yeah, whatever," Hudson deadpanned as he finally fished out a eighth photograph portrayed a smiling man wearing a red Hammer-and Sickle bandanna with lots of dynamite in a what must have been a coal mine. "This guy is Crazy Ivan, demolition expert. He came from the Ural Mountains blowing stuff up. Proceed with extreme caution."

Weaver stared at Ivan's rape face for a while and found himself shaking. Mason looked too and noted, "This guy's needs a girlfriend."

"He blew up his girlfriend," Hudson said.

"Oh."

The pilot informed them ,"Okay, everyone, this is Langley Airways. We're pleased to inform you that we have visual of the LZ. ETA fifteen minutes. Please take time to take your luggage of the overhead racks." He turned on the radio to ship to inform its mothership, the _Enterprise_, uh, I mean, the _Liberace_, a CIA merchant ship sitting outside of Cuban waters. "Doc Seuss, this is Tinkerbell, we are confirming insert in Grid One-Niner-Four."

"Copy that, Tinkerbell, that is affirmative. Please proceed." The ship confirmed.

"Okay, Doc Seuss, acknowledged," replied the pilot. He then announced to the cabin, "Buckle up your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen, for the final approach to rum and beautiful sunsets, Cuba. Watch out for SAM and Triple-A-induced turbulence 'cause this is gonna be one rocky ride." Everyone did and lock and loaded as the Huey flew into the blazing red sunset.

Meanwhile, back aboard the _Liberace_...

"Confirmed," mission control announced, "they are beginning their infil into Cuban territory."

"You think it's a good idea to send them into Cuba knowing they'll never come back?" President Richard Nixon asked Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara concerning the mission.

"Yes, that's why it's a suicide mission," the Secretary of Defense replied. "Besides, this is why it's called a black op. _Deniable_ operations." He emphasized the first word. "We know such a mission where the fate of the world hangs on the balance we need brave men to undertake them. But if they lose, we could just say to the Kremlin Gremlins that a bunch of wackos escaped from a psych ward , stole a chopper and landed into Cuba, searching for booze."

"I like that story, Rob," the president smiled, "but is it foolproof?"

"Foolproof? You can bet your ass on it, Dick!" McNamara grinned and turned on a TV with a video featuring several actors making a poor portrayal of Hudson, Mason and Weaver escaping from Walter Reed Hospital, going into Andrews Airbase to steal a Huey and fly all their way into Cuba in what looked like a badly-produced B-movie.

"Wow!" Nixon was surprised. "Very authentic. For a second there I thought it was them."

"You're right," McNamara chimed despite the obviously bad set and insane piss-poor acting. "The Russians will never know the difference."

"But what if the succeed? Should we take them back?"

"Nah, we just leave them there, Dick," the secretary of defense deadpanned. "Team Expendable."

"Right on," Nixon chimed as they jumped to their feet and high-fived, laughing like little girls. What they didn't know is that a KGB yellow submarine has been recording the entire conversation the whole time through on-board bugs. It submerged back into the water so it would play the video in Moscow for shits and giggles.

* * *

><p>HAHAHA! Looks like our heroes are screwed even before their mission started. Will they succeed or will they fail epically? Read, enjoy and review the insanity.<p>

Mariposa - Butterfly(Spanish).  
>Dingo - parody of Frederick Forsyth 's The Jackal from <em>The Day of The Jackal<em> and a certain TF2 character.


	2. First Boss Battle

Chapter 2 - First Boss Battle

Our heroes have finally made entered Cuba and en route to the LZ. They're in enemy territory now. What's it gonna be like down there? Thanks to Elred Bluegreen for helping me with the Dingo part.

**...**

They passed by a radar station built by the Russians. How the radar station ignored them, nobody knows. The chopper then burst over the top of the ridge and banked left into a wide canyon studded with Triple-A and SAM batteries under camouflage netting and foliage. Again, they were ignored. This time, they plainly see why: The Cubans and Russians manning the batteries are drunk as hell. Too much vodka and rum for sure. They saw of the guys rolling on the ground like a bunch of idiots. One of them even jumped off the cliff like he was skydiving... and hit the ground terribly.

They watched apprehensively, the interior of their Huey illuminated by red light, the chopper's radio playing _Long Tall Sally_ by Little Richard.

Weaver was offering them some good old Sobranie tobacco. Mason refused some. Hudson too. Pissed, he mutter aloud, "Bunch of slack-jawed faggots around here. _This_ stuff will make you a god damned sexual Tyrannosaurus, just like me."

"Since when did extra strong tobacco make you man?" Mason asked.

"Since I saw those Marlboro ads on _Time_ magazine," Weaver proudly replied.

"Whoa, don't tell me the gay kind," Mason exclaimed. Everyone laughed loudly, except Weaver, who looked ticked off. There's a story going on in the tabloids about two cowboys having an affair together. Unfortunately, ever since Weaver started smoking Malboros, everybody at Langley thought he was a gay cowboy. That was a bad time for Weaver back then. The Russian muttered angrily and rolled some of the tobacco into a hand-rolled cigarette, swallowing it whole like it was candy and nearly choked to death. Mason immediately noticed it and gave him a hard smack on the back, causing him to spit it out.

The pilot announced, "We're about the arrive at the LZ. ETA, four minutes."

"Alright, everyone, get ready," Hudson called out.

The chopper descended beside a big billboard that featured a tropical paradise with workers shone gloriously and epically in the Caribbean sun as the shining light of world communism and below it read WELCOME TO THE GLORIOUS SOCIALIST REPUBLIC OF CUBA. A WORKER'S PARADISE... UNLESS YOU'RE CAPITALIST OR AMERICAN, A **_GREAT! BIG!_** _**HELLHOLE!**_ The other half of the billboard featured a wrecked New York, a slice of burning cherry pie on a stake, and Uncle Sam hanging from a tree. They jumped off the chopper and deployed weapons.

Hudson pulled out his radio called the chopper, "Okay, this Eagle-One, Bravo-Five, do you copy, over?"

"Copy, Eagle-One," the chopper replied.

"We confirm insert. Proceeding to mission."

"Okay, gentlemen, you're own you're own. Bravo-Five out," the pilot replied. He put on the radio to the Liberace, "Doc Suess, this is Tinkerbell. Package has landed Grid One-Niner-Four."

"A solid copy, acknowledged," replied the _Liberace_. The mission control turned to the President and the Secretary of Defense. "They're in Cuba now, sirs."

"Great, now we can sit back and enjoy the show," McNamara said.

"Let's get it o-nnnn~," Nixon said as he put on some 3D movie glasses.

The mission control officer turned on the large screen in front of them to reveal the thermal camera screen of a SR-71 flying over Cuba observing the team.

The helicopter flew off, leaving the team on the ground.

"Okay, everyone. Let's get ready to move," Hudson said. "The base is about four clicks from here."

"I'm ready," Mason chimed, "I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready-"

"Shut up, Mason!" Hudson scolded. They both left for the base. Meanwhile, Weaver stood looking at the billboard, disturbed by its anti-American message.

"Jesus..." he muttered to himself, "is this what they'll do when they hit the US?"

"Weaver!" Hudson shouted impatiently.

He turned to him and replied, "Yeah, I'm coming!" He got up and ran to catch up with them, occasionally stealing glances from the horrifying billboard.

They passed by house and a clump of coconut trees to meet their contact. It was Carlos.

"Carlos!" Mason greeted.

"It's good to see again, Mason!" He greeted back. "I never I thought I'll meet you here."

"Same thing," he replied. He then motioned to his team mates. "Carlos, this is Weaver."

"Great to see you. Carlos," Weaver said.

"You too. Nice eye patch by the way."

Mason then said, "And this here's Hudson, a fucking ice cube with shades."

Hudson to himself in surprise, _What the fuck?_

"Greetings, Senor Hudson," Carlos replied.

"What do you have for us?" Hudson asked.

"Please, amigos, come inside," Carlos motioned to the house. Now inside, they plan their operation. They set out maps, diagrams, intel reports and other stuff as they plan their assault on the airbase and its top-secret facility.

"Damn commies," Hudson noted, "they've doubled the guards since yesterday and tightened security measures for most personnel."

"Not exactly a walk in the park," Mason added. "Those new guard towers have good fields of view with overlapping killzones."

Weaver joined in, "They've increased patrols around the outer ring of the compound except for one place." He pointed his finger on an area of the map.

"The licorice forest," Carlos said, "that place is where they'll least expect an infiltration team to come in. No patrols."

"But if they knew someone's gonna go there," Weaver asked, "how come they have no patrols?"

Carlos answered, "That's because that forest is guarded by one man." Epic dramatic pause with effect. "The _Dingo_."

The trio cringed in apprehension. Weaver felt a cold wind moving through the room. Hudson felt a chill in his spine and almost jumped to his feet when ice cubes emerged from the back of his shirt.

Meanwhile, Mason was chillin' in Cuba Libre, Daquiri and Mojito while throwing ice cubes down Hudson's back, he doesn't like his drinks on the rocks. Pissed, Hudson snapped at Mason, "Why the hell are you putting ice cubes on my back?"

"Sorry, Hudson," he apologized, "I thought you're a convenient place to put ice cubes away."

"I'm not a fucking ice cue bin, goddamnit!"

Carlos shouted, "Hey! Be serious. This is our only shot a getting into the facility." They shut up for now. He then went on ,"Okay, we'll take this route, which leads straight through the forest."

Hudson then asked, "What about booby traps?"

"No idea," Carlos replied.

"No idea?" Hudson's eyebrows raised in doubt.

"We didn't have time for some quick recon," he responded. "They're continuing the operation ahead of schedule."

Hudson finally said, "Okay, we gotta be quick."

Looked over the plans and agreed. "Let's move out. We've got work to do." They took their gear and moved out of the house.

By six o'clock they've entered the licorice forest. Although it was nighttime, the licorice forest shone like the sun for some odd reason. Maybe it was the giant table lamp illuminating the entire area.

"Man, this place is lit up like the some Christmas Tree," Mason commented. "What's this place like?" Apparently, he and the others don't know that a giant table lamp lit up the area.

"Jesus," Weaver gasped, "you're not kidding man. I've never seen something like this before. This is like some shit from Doctor Seuss."

Mason then asked Carlos, "What happened here, Carlos?"

"Castro performed a series of test with a sort of new weapon," he explained. "It affected the environment around here. The entire forest was turned into licorice."

"Did the weapon tests succeed?" Mason asked, peering to Carlos' map.

"No," he answered, "the tests were a failure so he decided to direct a new research program." They trudged through the licorice woods and marveling at the the freaks of nature that is the giant, blood-red licorice stalks.

"Carlos, are any of your men here?" Hudson asked as he crouched through the underbrush.

"_Si_," he replied, "I have my best to meet us here if we keep going ahead." He then turned to Mason. "Mason, you take point."

"Now?" he asked puzzled.

"Yes, now,"

"Where?"

Carlos squelched his annoyance at him. He sighed, "Just follow the direction of your compass and the distance meter."

"Oh, thanks for the tip," Mason said cheerily.

Carlos then turned to Hudson, puzzled and frustrated. "What the hell happened to him?"

"He's been like since '62," Hudson deadpanned. At the mean time, Mason took point, following his compass and the meter indicating his distance and direction to the checkpoint.

150 meters...

Later, 90 meters...

Then, 60 meters...

15 meters... He caught sight of his men.

_Objective complete_

Carlos rushed beside him and greeted his men. "Hey, amigos."

"Hey, Carlos," one of them raised waved him.

Carlos turned back to the trio, "See, I told you they'll be here." Then several shots rang out and Carlos' men dropped like flies.

"Shit! Hit the deck!" Weaver shouted as they all went down.

Every one of his men have holes in their foreheads. He finally, said, "Oh my God... This is what I'm afraid of. The Dingo is here."

Everyone shuddered in fear as they realized the situation they're in. It took several seconds for them to stay still until they finally crept a few inches under the bush.

"Jesus, we're sitting ducks here if we don't move," Hudson said.

"We need to find a way to get to him before he screws us up," Mason whispered, cocking his shotgun.

"But how? He knows where we are and he can hit us with his eyes closed," snapped Weaver.

"Then what's the point for him to be a sniper?" Mason asked. Everyone sweat dropped.

After some awkward silence, Hudson said, "Okay, we need a way to counter or we're screwed."

"But how?"

Then everyone turned their attention to a weapon on one of Carlos' men: a scoped FAL.

"Mason," Hudson suggested, "if we can get that FAL, we have a chance to beat the Dingo."

"Great idea, ice cube,"Mason replied, "that things like fifteen feet away from us in a clearing, how the hell are we gonna get that?"

"You get it, Mason," the ice cub snapped, "think of a way." Then bits of wood erupted behind his head, sending Hudson down for cover. "Shit, that was close."

"Alright, Mason," Weaver said, "do your stuff."

So Mason sat behind the tree to think of something. It took eighteen seconds when he finally came with an idea. "I got it!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Hudson was puzzled.

"Gum," Mason said, holding up ten sticks of it.

"What!" Hudson snapped, "This is serious, Mason! We're here to destroy Castro's superweapon, not sing Koombaya."

"No, Hudson, that's not it." Mason then swallowed all the sticks(with wrapper and tinfoil) and chewed them vigorously. The two looked at each other in disbelief as they did not realize Mason's ploy. Then took out more gum, with wrapper and tinfoil again and chewed harder. Then he spat the ball of gum and finally took out a piece of string from his bag. He then spat out a ball of gum and other assorted things and attached it to the string.

"With this," he said proudly, "we could get that FAL in no time." He brandished the string-gumball contraption, which Weaver, Hudson and Carlos doubt would ever retrieved the FAL for them, not mention the disgusting ball of gum, foil and paper wrapper would give second thoughts about touching the gun.

Mason then spun it like a cowboy's lasso until he tossed the gumball-thing at the FAl. He scored a direct hit.

"Score!" Mason pumped his fist excitedly, unexpectedly standing up.

"Get down!" Hudson snapped and pulled him back behind the bushes. A shot rang out again and it missed Mason a few inches above the head. Hudson added, "Don't do that again."

Mason nodded and turned his head back to the gun. He began pulling it. It began workin, as he strung it towards him. That was until the gumball turned into something like saltwater taffy. Mason's face contorted in horror as his sticky 'contraption' crapped up on him. By the time he pulled the entire string in, the only thing in the other end is the stringy gum.

"Shit, no!" He screamed. "This can't be... It was a brilliant plan."

"Well..." Weaver interjected, "at least I'm not gonna be holding a disgusting, gum-covered rifle."

"So what do we do now, huh?" Carlos asked dismay.

Meanwhile, at high tree several yards away from them, the Dingo smirked as he looked through the scopes of his custom-made rifle. "Look at those bloody wankers," he said with a smug smile. The elite team the Americans had sent were indeed a bunch or morons - except maybe Hudson.

"Hey guys," Weaver exclaimed. "I got something in my bag."

"What now?" asked an exasperated Hudson.

"I packed a fishing rod before we left," he explained. "I was gonna go fly-fishing till your boys from Langley called me." He was about to take a little vacation when Hudson's snatch team kidnapped him and packed him aboard the trunk of a car back to the CIA.

"Well, I had to pull you of there," Hudson replied. "You're not on the phone and I just learned where you're going from your travel agent."

"Jeez, can saving the world wait?"

"No, it can't ," Hudson snapped. "Besides, where the hell are you going to fish then?"

"Silent Hill," Weaver shouted. "I heard the fishing there's great."

"Silent Hill... Hmmm?" That name seems familiar to Hudson. Where did he heard it? Hell no, he forgotten anyway.

"Hey Weaver," Mason cut in, "did you say Silent Hill? I think I know my nephew's coming to visit there sometime in the future."

"Oh, that's great," Weaver excitedly exclaimed. "I'll show him how to fish a thing or too."

"Yeah, I also remembered that a SOG teammate of ours named Head lived there. I forgot his first name but it's started with 'P'. Bowman doesn't get along with him though." Head was the chief interrogator of Mason's SOG team. His technique for prisoners involves some unsavory moves that goes to the backdoor and effectively making prisoners his 'bitches'. He also uses a big-assed knife too.

"Why not?" Weaver asked.

"He says 'cause Head's racist. Just look at his head, it looks like a KKK pyra-"

"Shut up!" Hudson yelled at the two of them, already pissed off from their nonsense. "We need get this show on the road and that means killing that sniper out there."

"Okay," Mason and Hudson said in unison.

"Weaver, break out that fishing rod," the ice cube ordered.

"Got it." Weaver unpacked his bag and assembled his fishing rod.

Mason decided to get naughty. He said to Weaver, "You're gonna get that FAL with your fishing rod?"

"Yeah," Weaver replied offhandedly, not minding Mason as he assembled his rod.

"You know, it's covered with gum."

"Yeah, so what?"

"I thought you hate gum-covered rifles."

"Yeah, and it's your gum-" That's when Weaver realized what Mason is saying. "What you mean?"

"You have a secret gum fetish?"

"Fuck off," he snapped. "I'm not gonna get your gook-covered rifle." He angrily pushed the fishing rod into Mason's hands.

"Fine, sour puss, I'll get it," Mason pouted as he he swung the fishing rod forward, throwing its line into the air. The hook caught the FAL's trigger guard. "I got it!" He chimed. His three teammates cheered like rowdy baseball fans. He then giddily reeled it in like an angler, cranking the the rod like crazy and dragging the rifles back to them.

_CRACK! ZING!_

A shot caught the the end of the rod and the line was cut, the rifle tossed into the air and bounced of a tree, right back on the middle of the clearing. Everyone looked in horror as their second attempt to retrieve the scoped FAL ended in total failure yet again. They all immediately get down, except Mason, whom he had to push his head back down.

At a far part of the licorice woods, a man in a ghillie suit lay on his belly with his sniper rifle pointed on his targets. He adjusted his Digger hat and said in an Australian accent, "This gonna be a piece cake. Don't these bloody wankers ever heard of a Turkey shoot?"

Meanwhile, back in the ship, the tension was getting too much for McNamara and Nixon. They were at the edge of their seats as they watch the drama unfold before them, eating popcorn and drinking soda, and watching in high-def the live feed of the SR-71's thermal camera. On one corner of the screen huddled four dots, Mason, Hudson, Weaver, and their Cuban contact. On the lower right corner in what appeared to be a high-elevation is a lone dot, obviously the Dingo.

"This is too exciting," Nixon said giddily, shuffling his feet, "I can't stand the suspense."

"Settle down, Dick," McNamara smiled broadly. "This is only the beginning of the excitement."

They watched giddily until a radio message came from the Blackbird. "This is Big Eye-6. We're bingo fuel. We're bugging out."

"What!" McNamara exclaimed in shock. "They can't bug out now. This is the best part!"

"Put him on speaker!" Nixon demanded.

The speaker is on and they're now speaking to the pilot. Nixon said, "This is the president. I'm ordering you to remain on station. We will we be sending a refueling plane to your location over."

"Negative, Mr. President. I just ordered a refueling bird to my position a while ago."

Nixon was puzzled. He asked, "Did you get it?"

"Negative, sir, it just happened that it crashed in mid-air with a Cuban airship."

"What? An airship? That's preposterous, why would they need an airship?"

"That's how the Cubans are shipping weapons these days," Big Eye-6 explained.

"Oh."

"I gotta go offline now. I can't stay any longer sir. Big Eye out," the plane concluded.

The thermal screen went offline. McNamara, bawled to realize tonight's entertainment is gone, pleaded, "No, no, no, no! You can't go! I'll miss the best part! No!" He went down on his knees and cried.

Nixon patted his shoulders reassuringly, "There, there, Bob. We could find other forms of entertainment."

He stopped crying and sniffed. "And what?"

Nixon thought for a while, rubbing his chin. Then he suggested, "How about rock and roll?"

He stopped crying and smiled. "That's a splendid idea!" he chimed. Then they did some head-banging rock and roll with some of the crew. It was very loud and it looks like it would put Woodstock to shame, too bad they can't broadcast it to the entire world.

Back in the candy woods, the team realized how fucked they are. "Oh man, we're screwed," muttered Weaver. "Screwed thanks to Mason."

"Hey," Mason retorted. "Don't blame me for ruining your angler rod."

"That's not it, retard! The Dingo's gonna cap our asses one by one and put our heads on display above the the fireplace."

While both of them are arguing, Hudson turned to Carlos. "Is there another way around him?" he asked.

"Hmm, let's see," he replied. He picked up a tree frog and threw it on the side. A crack shot out into the forest and the frog burst into cute little bits of gore. He then turned back to the ice cube. "No, Hudson. We cannot."

Hudson sank on a tree and said despondently, "Shit... we're really screwed." He would have wallowed in self pity if it wasn't for Weaver and Mason arguing like babies. In pissed off and frustrated, he growled at them, "Pipe down, you morons!"

That got their attention so they stopped fighting and looked at him. Now the reality of the situation has descended on all of them: they're trapped, no way out with a psychopathic sniper ready to blow their heads away the moment they show their pretty faces out in the open.

"Jesus, what are we gonna do now?" Weaver moaned.

"The Lord is not here to save us right now," Carlos pointed out.

"I know," he snapped, "it's just a figure of speech."

Mason spoke up, "I don't about you guys but if I'm gonna spend my last moments on earth happily, I'm just gonna indulge on something I like the most."

Puzzled, the trio turned to him and asked in unison, "What?"

"This." He pulled out a packet from his bag and ripped it open. The trio gave each other puzzled looks. Mason then unloaded the packet onto a silver plate, which is a strange white powder. He then poured some water into it.

_POOF!_

In the plate was a large delicious-looking cake dessert. It looked like a meringue garnished with strawberries, bananas, cherries, kiwifruit and cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup. Their mouths water when they looked at sweet, enticing cake. Hudson asked, "What's that, Mason?"

Mason looked up. "Oh this? It's Pavlova, ice cube. It's something I got from my Australian friends in Vietnam."

"What's Pavlova?" Weaver asked hungrily.

"Oh, it's cake made of meringue," Mason cheerily answered.

Through the scope of his rifle, the Dingo stared at the dessert on Mason's plate. His eyes popped wide open. "Oh my God," he exclaimed loudly, "it's Pavlova!" the Dingo remembered the dessert, the way his mommy made it. It's sweet soft taste, crunchy on the outside, soft and creamy in the inside. It filled him with nostalgia of happier days. His mouth turned into a waterfall as he watched Mason sliced the cake daintily. He wanted it, he wanted it badly!

"That bloody Pavlova's mine!" He cried. Then quickly reconfigured his sniper rifle to fire a harpoon, which he used to steal other desserts. He aimed, lining the crosshairs of his scope on the plate. Giddy with anticipation, he pulled the trigger and it recoiled.

Mason was just ate a forkful of the dessert when a strange object clanked on to the plate. He looked at it. It was a hook with a line. Then the plate flew of his hands, snatched by the thing.

"No!" Mason cried worriedly, furious at his dessert is being taken away from him. He grabbed and dragged it back. The pull that he exerted on the plate was tremendous, matched only by the pull of the line.

The Dingo was reeling in the line furiously to grab the cake, planting his foot firmly on the ground. He spun the reel madly to pull it in. It annoyed him that one of the wankers was just as desperate as he is for it.

Mason is now engaged in a full-blown tug of war for the cake, which he wanted to it for himself. How selfish. He was pulled it madly, struggling with whoever was taking it away from. He dug his heels firmly on the ground but he was pulled forward, his feet blowing the ground beneath him for a few feet before he made a sudden tug.

"This is my cake and nobody's taking it away from me!" He cried.

Embarrassed by Mason's affection for just a simple cake, Hudson ordered, "Mason, let go of the damn cake!"

"No! I'm not legging go of my precious!" Mason hissed, still struggling with the line for his cake.

"Saving the world is more important than some damn cake!" He might want to eat his words though. Weaver and Carlos are also helping Mason get his cake back. He facepalmed at their ridiculousness.

"Hee! Haw!" They chanted as they pulled the cake backward, A Titanic match between whoever is pulling the strings on one end and the cake lovers on the other.

Then something happened...

The Dingo was having the upper hand, he just installed a power motor to reel in the cake. It was doing well, pulling the delicious goodness towards him. He could almost feel that he could just taste that cake, after capping the morons trying to take it back of course. But the rope stalled, now it's suddenly struggling with the force on the other end, the combined strength of the three morons, as in there's three guys pulling the cake. What hell is happening?

The machine is starting to sputter like a cat got suck in the fuel line and the exhaust is trying to crap it out. It was spitting smoke violently and it shook like it was possessed by Hitler.

A few seconds before that the trio were starting to lose hope in getting the cake. "Mason, it's no use!" cried Weaver. "Whoever it is is just too strong for the three for us."

"No!" Mason growled. Then his arms and body bulged with veins popping out in an epic manner, parts of his shirt ripping away. "You just flew your muscles... AND PULL!" With one very _epic_ tug, he dragged the rope several feet back.

The machine finally gave up, exploding dramatically into tiny bits, sending the Dingo up in the air, screaming like a little girl. While he was thrown helplessly up in the air he saw the cake tugged back at high speed, he managed to snatch it in just in a nick of time... and was pulled in like a fish.

The rope whipped into a neat pile besides Mason until the cake landed in his hands. "Success!" He exclaimed excitedly, dancing around Hudson, who looked impatient.

"Okay, you got the cake," Hudson complained suddenly, "now let's just going and finish the mission."

"But I must have happy time with cake," Mason replied happily.

"I wanna eat some cake too," Weaver chimed.

"Me too!" Carlos joined in.

"Now let's settle down, gents, and share the cake," Mason told as he held the cake up in the air likes it's a crown.

Hudson noticed a dot in the sky that seemed to get bigger and bigger flying through the sky towards them. It wasn't until it got closer that he realized...

_BOOM!_

A man slammed into a licorice tree, breaking a hole into a trunk. His head abruptly rammed hard at Mason's cake, sending it flying from his hands. Weaver and Carlos suddenly have expressions of horror in their faces as the cake flew and splatted somewhere, their mouths still dribbling like springs.

"My cake," Mason screamed in despair as his sweet precious is gone. He went on screeching, "My cake! I lost my cake. My cake-" He stopped ranting when he saw where the pavlova landed. It ended up, of all places, creamed into Hudson, his face, now reddened and steaming with rage, was adorned with cream and bits of strawberries, kiwis, cherries and banana were all over his jacket.

"Hey..." Mason said awkwardly. "Um... about the..."

"Don't say it," Hudson grumbled. He then walked to a clump of licorice trees. He suddenly began shouting wildly, revealing off his Tourrete's syndrome. Indeed, one can listen to Hudson's bleeps like "Mason, you f*bleeped* retard! This sucks like s*bleep* on corndog stick! Stupid a*bleep*-licking commies! *Bleep* *Bleep* *Bleep *Bleeeeep!* BLEEEEP*" while the trees thundered violently. He finally stepped out of the trees, tired but relieved that his Tourrete's moment has passed.

"Hudson, you need to obey you're doctors orders next time," Mason said.

"F*bleep* off!" He snapped at Mason. True, he should have obeyed his doctor's orders, but that would have stopped him from saving the world and collecting his paycheck.

"Hey, amigos," Carlos said. "This man's alive." He pointed to the figure stuck on the hole of the licorice trunk, moaning and wearing a digger hat. He looked to see the guys. They all gasped when they saw him. It's the Dingo

"Oh my God, it's him," Weaver said, "the Dingo."

"What?" Hudson said as he wiped off the cake from his face. He ran into the broken licorice tree and was astounded. "Jesus, you're right. It _is_ him!"

Mason was sweating for sure. He knew the dingo and met him before. He has a little secret with him.

"Well, well," Hudson gloated. "The Dingo in the flesh." He pulled out his gun. "Look's like retribution has walked right to your doorstep."

"Hey, wait, what's an Australian doing working for Castro?" Carlos asked.

"That's the Dingo," Weaver explained. "The most notorious assassin of the world. He works for the other side."

"My cake..." The Dingo said dejectedly. "HOW COULD YOU?"

Mason growled. "What? How could YOU? We were going to share the cake until you flew in out of nowhere!"

"I was going to reel the bloody thing in until YOU ruined that!" The Dingo shot back.

"YOU BLEW IT UP!" Mason whined.

Hudson pushed Mason away and stepped in. "Well, thanks for getting that cake out of the way." He pointed his pistol at his forehead. "Now, by the authority vested on me by the Central Intelligence Agency and the government of the United States of America, I'm, gonna blow your brains out for killing Kennedy."

The Dingo sweated buckets. He retorted, "Wait, I didn't kill your president! Someone else did."

"Yeah, right," Hudson replied sarcastically. "Nice try with the Oswald trick."

"No!" He cried again. "That _wasn't_ me. It was someone else." He turned eyes to Mason.

Mason froze for a second like a deer in the headlights, glancing around very nervously as his team began to look at him. Improvisation time?

"Uh, OH MY GOD HE'S GOING FOR HIS GUN!" Mason snatched his handgun from his holster and unloaded the magazine into the astonished Aussie, killing him with the first two shots. Then, Mason reloaded, snapped the slide shut, and spat another mag into the lifeless bushman. Now, in the place of his head was a smoking neck.

"Mason!" Hudson snapped angrily. "I was going to kill him."

"But he was going for his gun, I tell you," Mason defended himself. "Can you not see that his trying to get his weapon?"

"I'll be the judge of that." Hudson was about to turn when Mason poked his shoulder. He quickly turned back. "What!"

"Carlos has got diarrhea!" Mason replied. Just when Hudson turned to Carlos, Mason quickly went behind and there was the sound of ripping tape being hastily tied to something.

Carlos was puzzled. "What? I've got no diarrhea."

"You sure?" Hudson asked skeptically.

"Of course not," Carlos replied, sounding annoyed. "Did you see me crapping up lately?"

"Oh." Hudson turned back to see the Dingo. He examined him and said to Mason, "You're right, he is going for his weapon." In the Dingo's hand was his bush knife - secured sloppily by duck tape.

"See," Mason cried triumphantly. "He was trying to trick us to buy time while he was going to kill us. Now let's get goin." Mason then skipped happily and whistled a tune.

Everyone else paused for a while. Then Hudson said, "What are you waiting for? Let's get going."

They all moved out and continued the mission. Weaver thought to himself as he walked along, How did the Dingo get the gun? He was clearly stuck. His hands can't reach it for sure. While he was at thought, he didn't see a licorice tree on his path and dumped into it.

Author's note. By now you know about some references._ Long Tall Sally_ by Little Richard was played in the helicopter scene of _Predator_. The slack-jawed faggot part also came from the scene too. Mason referred to Brokeback Mountain in his conversation with over at the helicopter. I couldn't resist adding Silent Hill because Harry and Cheyl have the same surname as our hero from Black Ops. Of course, the fans would find a Pyramid Head referrence if they read carefully. Tip: Bowman would never get along with each other if they were indeed teammates due to shape of his head reminding Bowman of a certain racist organization. Finally, the Dingo is both a reference to, again, the Jackal and Sniper from Team Fortress 2 On the subject of food, Daquiri and Mojito are indeed Cuban cocktails, along with aforementioned Cuba Libre and pavlova is an Australian dessert which looks quite tasty.


	3. Let's Walk Peacefully aka Infiltration

**Chapter 3 - Let's Walk Peacefully aka Infiltration**

Hey, guys. It's been a long time since I've last written this fic. I've been on a hiatus for some time now and I've got this third chapter on. I wasn't feeling my best when I made this so please be patient. R&R please with honest opinion.

* * *

><p>After the boss fight with the Dingo, our four heroes emerged from the licorice forest by dawn, after a brief rest at the edge of the woods which interrupted by crabs nibbling their toes.<p>

"Oh look," Mason said. "A pineapple plantation."

Into a new set of problems.

"Great," Weaver said with frustration, nursing that bump on his from the licorice tree. "Out of the licorice woods and now this: a pineapple plantation! Do we have to cross it?"

"Yes," Hudson replied with authority. "If we there's no other way. Carlos, is there a way around this?"

Before Carlos could answer, a vehicle's loud rumble was heard. "Everybody, get down!" the Cuban exclaimed. The team dropped down on the grass, out of sight from the approaching Cuban jeep, blaring _Guantanamera_ loudly. When it was out in the distance with _Guantanamera_ fading, the four crept their heads above the grass.

"That was a close one," Mason whispered.

"To answer your question, Hudson," Carlos said, "no. Look's like we have to crawl through the pineapple plantation."

"So that settles it." Hudson said as he checked his map. He turned to everyone else. "We'll split into two groups. Mason, Weaver. You two go to this point on the plantation's perimeter." He pointed on the map for the duo to see. "Carlos and I will go here. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Weaver spoke, looking through the binoculars. "Why does a plantation have double barbed wire fences and guard towers?"

"What?" Hudson asked. He crawled by Weaver's side and took his binocs. Peering through, he could see the double-wire fence and the guard towers punctuating long sections of it. No foot patrols were visible on the ground but he spotted a danger sign for electricity. "Shit..."

"What?" Mason asked.

"The fence is electrified." Hudson tucked on the binoculars. Then a Cuban soldier, who looked like he's drunk, undid his pants and pissed on the fence.

*KZZZT* "AAAARRRGGGH!" he screamed as the whole fence lit up like some giant bug light.

"Owww...," Weaver winced uncomfortably.

"If we're gonna cross that fence we're toast," Hudson cautioned as he watched the guard's comrades drag his smoking ass out of there. "We need a way to short circuit that fence long enough to cross it."

"Yeah," Weaver said dryly, "right in the middle of nowhere."

Mason looked at the map. "Hey, guys, there's a village not far from here, about half a klick away."

Hudson smiled. "Great." He turned to his teammates. "What are you waiting for? Let's go find some tools." They all crept away from their spot in the grass.

* * *

><p>They arrived at the edge of the village, stopping at the road leading to it. Hudson inspected the sign on it.<p>

SAN DE LOS MERCADOS, EST, 1596

"We're here, boys." Hudson pulled out his map. "Okay, we can't enter the village proper through here since there's police so we have to go around it."

"What?" Hudson asked dumbfounded. "Seriously? After having us hump over the hills for three hours, you want us to hump around town?"

"Yes, and that's an order. No questions asked."

Weaver snorted grumpily. "Alright." He looked around and asked, "Hey, where's Mason?"

Much to their horror, Mason casually walked down the road to the village.

"MASON!" they collectively screamed and sprinted off at high speed. Weaver was ahead of the others as he tried to catch up with their messed-up-in-the-head teammate. However, he tripped on a rock and stumbled over. Hudson and Carlos were too frantic to see Weaver on the ground, thus they crashed into him and rolled down the road together in a writhing, tangled mass of screaming commandos.

Walking down the road, Mason was obliviously whistling a happy-go-lucky tune when his buddies crashed into his ass, tangling him in and joining the screaming and rough rolling down the road.

Their painful, terrifying journey finally ended when they hit a tree, breaking the quartet up and scattering them about.

"Ohhh... my head...," Weaver groaned.

Carlos was trying to get up. "Shit..."

Mason was hearing birds chirping happily, then he shook his head clear.

Poor Hudson found himself stuck in a barrel, with his legs kicking the air trying to get out.

"Mason! Get me outta here!" he screamed inside, which was rather muffled. The trio pulled him out of the barrel with a pop and landed on their asses in the grass.

Hudson, after his "life-threatening" barrel problem, panted heavily.

"That was awesome!" Mason cheered. And then he turned to Hudson. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"

The comment caused Hudson to boil inside with rage, complete with the sounds of a kettle's whistle.

"Hello~," Mason repeated. "Earth to Hudson?"

Hudson exploded, "SHUT THE FUCK UP, MASON!"

"Now, now, Hudson. You shouldn't let your emotions get the better of y-"

_SMACK!_

Hudson cut him off with a punch to the face. He calmed down a minute later.

"So, Senor Hudson," Carlos asked. "What do we do now?"

They heard what sounded like recitals nearby. "Sounds like little kids," Weaver noted.

"It's probably a small public school nearby," Carlos said. "Probably elementary level."

Hudson turned to the direction of the sounds and so the schoolhouse in the distance. "School's this way. And if that little building next is holding tools, grab whatever you can before we set off to short-circuit the fence." He then barked, "Okay, everyone! Move out!" He turned to Mason. "Mason, get your ass up!"

Mason promptly got up and running. Hudson sighed. "For once he did something right." He then joined in with the group.

At school the kids were reading their lessons on history when their teacher announced that math lessons are up.

"All right, children," she said excitedly. "It's time for math."

All the kids groaned sadly at the thought of crunching numbers yet again.

Little Chito raised his hand. "Ah, Miss Cruz. Why do we have to do math lessons again?"

"Of course we must," Miss Cruz said. "A revolution over the American capitalist dogs needs as much brains as muscle. We need people to build us rockets to hit Miami, especially the tip of the bomb that finds New York or Washington."

"Okay," Chito said glumly.

Satisfied, she began the lesson of the day for math. "Okay children, let's do fractions." Then there was a loud noise outside the schoolhouse.

"Can't we get any faster?" one voice complained.

"Okay, Mason," another said . "Let's be subtle. I'll pick the lock."

A loud crash ensued. "Okay. All done~."

"Dammit, Mason," a third said angrily. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

The teacher got our of the school to see four men arguing by the tool shed with the door kicked off its hinges.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded with her arms crossed.

Our heroes were mortified. They were caught. What are they to do now?

"Ah..." they replied collectively, and then turned to a football huddle.

"What should we do?" Weaver whispered.

"The teacher's spotted us," Hudson replied. "We need a way out of this."

"Why not we cap them?" Mason suggested happily.

"No!" the trio replied together.

"Are you really that fucked up?" Carlos spat. "I'm not going to kill a teacher and a bunch of kids."

"Got any better ideas?" Weaver asked.

"No, but I don't to do that Col. Kilgore thing you gringos did in 'Nam."

"Why don't we kill the first-born," Mason interrupted again. "It's a kickass plan."

"No more crap from you, Mason," Weaver spat angrily.

"Why not just make a run for it?" It was Carlos.

Hudson replied, "No way in hell, they'll be on our asses in minutes."

"And then what?"

"We'll have to think of something," Hudson scolded. "We need to get organized-"

The teacher cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"

"Oh shit, we gotta do something," Weaver said urgently.

Hudson replied, "Well, I've got this." They all faced the teacher. He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Good day to you, Miss..."

"Cruz," the teacher supplied her surname.

"Ah, Miss Cruz. Sorry to intrude your stay in such a manner. We need tools for repairing the telephone line and we haven't brought them with us."

"Oh, why don't you just say so," the teacher replied. "Our phone was when some drunk crashed his car into one of the wires. Why call your boss?"

"Our truck broke down and it's in the next village a few miles back. We have to walk all the way here to survey the damage."

"Oh that's nice, why not go around the village and ask for some help."

"Thank you, Miss Cruz."

"I'm the representative of the education ministry," Mason added. The others faces contorted in horror.

"Really? That's wonderful," Miss Cruz chimed. She had reasons to chime about it. She wanted to be rated teacher of the year by the educational ministry to get herself a bonus in pay from Castro himself. _And I'm finally getting something out of this dump_, she thought.

"Uh... Excuse me," Hudson tried to reply.

"Pleased to make you acquaintance, Senor..."

"Mason." He still had that dumb grin on his face.

"Okay, come on, gentlemen," she said happily. "Why not we get inside and I'll show how the revolution change the educational system."

"Don't mind if we do," Mason complemented and was about to follow the teacher when Hudson held him back.

"Mason, are you trying to get us killed?" he whispered sharply.

"Well, you need a way to get and I'm making it for you," the messed-up CIA agent said.

"No that wasn't! That was you getting us involved with a bunch of school kids."

"Couldn't we just run away?" Carlos asked.

"No!" they all replied.

Hudson added, "Mason got us into this shit so we might as well go with it." They all went with the teacher into the classroom.

The teacher hustled them inside the classroom. "Okay, class, we have surprise visitors who want to observe how we conduct classes for the greater good of the country." She introduced Mason first. "This is a representative of the education ministry, Senor Mason. Say good morning to him."

"Good morning, Senor Mason," the class droned like mindless zombies.

"Hey, kids," he greeted like its Howdie-Dody Time.

"And this is a cable repairman who wants to watch us learn in the free atmosphere of revolutionary freedom provided by our great leader Fidel Castro."

The kids did the same mindless drone, which freaked out the trio.

"What did they do to these kids?" Weaver asked uneasily.

"They're brainwashed into wanting to kill Americans in the future," Carlos deadpanned.

In reality, the kids were uninterested with math and only want to get on with good stuff in class.

"Today, class we are going to discuss fractions and decimals," she said, which earned an bored 'yay' from the class.

"Wait, did you say fractions and decimals?" Mason asked uneasily.

"Why, yes," she replied. "Hasn't the quality improved since Batista left Cuba?"

"Why, yes," he agreed. Than he asked, "Does it have numbers?"

"Of course." She started the math lesson.

"Numbers?" Weaver asked uneasily.

"Yes," Hudson said the uncomfortable truth, wincing.

Carlos, who never knew what's the deal with Mason, asked curiously, "Numbers? What does Mason have to do with numbers?"

"I think you'll find out soon enough," the ice cube answered ominously.

"What is a fraction?" she began. "In math, fractions are a way to represent parts of a whole number..." Then it gave way with examples of fractions.

"One and a half," went student.

"Two-thirds," went another.

And more came. Through it all, Mason was sweating buckets as he was slowly brought back to that dark place called Vorkuta.

* * *

><p><em>Flashback, '61<em>...

Strapped in the operating table was Mason, grimacing as he faced the harsh brightness of the overhead lights. A dark figure silhouetted in the darkness was Steiner. The atmosphere had both an ominous quality and was dripping with testosterone, mainly from Mason.

"What's up, doc?" Mason cracked a smartassed comment. "Are you here for my dental appointment?"

Steiner chuckled. "Well, not exactly. You see, we have had a number of, how should I put this? Ah, guests from America who one way or the other ended up here in the Soviet Union. Normally we would let them rot but we have found other... uses ... for them."

Mason chuckled."Well, provided that they avoided gang rape in the showers, getting beaten up by the guards, or end up in a mining accident."

"Well, we need what's inside your head for our purposes today."

Mason smirked. "Fat chance, doc. There's no way I'm telling anything to you or your bosses at Lubyanka."

"Not that. My friends at Dzerzhinsky Sqaure want to know if we can break in the head."

Mason steeled himself defiantly for what was in store.

Steiner then pressed the play button on a recorder and it played...

Math lessons in Russian.

The CIA agent smirked again. "Is that all or is it just the entree?"

Steiner smiled and grasped his hands. "Herr Mason, this is just the beginning of the little program that we will put you through." Little that our hero knew that it will go on for the rest of his stay in the gulag.

* * *

><p>Sweat dribbled down his face as the math lesson went on. In his head it was like a looped recording from hell.<p>

"_Five... Five... Six... Two... One..._" went the woman's voice.

"Okay, class," said the teacher. "Now let's do math with fractions.

"Stop..." Mason said slowly. "The numbers... Make it stop..."

The teacher turned to him. "Excuse me, Senor Mason?"

"The numbers... please stop..."

"Ah, I don't understand. What are you trying to say-

"THE NUMBERS!" he screamed to the top of his lungs. "MAKE IT STOP! ARRRGGGHHH!"

The horrified teacher screamed as well and then the kids as well when Mason exploded, jumping on the table like a monkey and trashed the blackboard by headbutting it, while wildly gesticulating and jabbering in unintelligent gibberish, scaring everyone in the room. Teacher and kids ran off to the outside while Mason leaped from place to place like an ape. He then grabbed the math text books, ripped most of them to shreds and bit off the rest with his teeth like a rabid dog.

The three friends cowered pruduntly under their comrade's violent outburst. "Oh, shit, what should do!?" Weaver asked in horror as they watched something straight out of a horror movie unfold before them.

"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Hudson replied.

Mason lifted the table and threw it out the window, breaking off the shutter panes and leaped out of it and proceeded to trash the shed. The trio slowly lifted their heads to see the one-man tornado wrecked the little shed to pieces.

"We gotta stop him or he'll compromise the mission," Weaver said worriedly.

"Wait here," Carlos said and shot forward, bounding over the window and went to Mason.

"Carlos, it's suicide!" Hudson shouted but Carlos did not care. He slid towards Mason and tapped him the shoulder.

Mason about-faced with his demonic grimace. Carlos gulped before he courageously faced him. "Mason, stop this childish insanity at once!"

The insane-in-the-head former Marine responded by loudly burping a cloud of foulness at him. The bad breath or nastiness instantly overwhelmed Carlos, who rolled up his eyes and fainted. Mason hopped away laughing like a lunatic.

Weaver and Hudson ran to a twitching Carlos's side in panic. "Carlos!" Weaver cried. "Carlos!" They both kneeled besides their comrade. "Oh, Carlos," he moaned. "Why did you have to go?" Hamming up the dramatic scene, Weaver wailed, "Why did have to leave us?" While heaping faux-sorrowful platitudes on Carlos, the Russian expat was checking his pockets while Hudson broke out a medkit and took some smelling salts.

"Oh, Carlos," Weaver hammed up again. He rifled through the Cuban's wallet. "You've got twelve lottery tickets. Oh my God, such a waste. Don't worry, Carlos. They're in safe hands. I'll make sure to cash 'em in-"

Whilst with the hamming and looting, the smelling salts which Hudson under the Cuban's nose worked. Carlos suddenly opened his eyes and his hand shot into Weaver's neck while he's picking his wallet.

A surprised, bug-eyed Weaver would have panicked wildly if it wasn't for the iron grip on his throat. Frightened, he met the hard, scary eyes of the Cuban. Carlos said to Weaver menacingly, "Give. Me. My. Lottery tickets." Quaking in terror, the Russian handed back the twelve lottery tickets he picked from his wallet. He then released Weaver, who caught his breath.

* * *

><p>Miss Cruz's mouth was wide open and so were her eyes as she stared at the schoolhouse, or what's left of it, in disbelief. In little over ten minutes of terror, the so-called "education representative" destroyed the schoolhouse. There goes her bonus, she thought. Her look of despair was contrasted with the happy faces of her class.<p>

"Class... dismissed," she said glumly.

"Yay!" the kids screamed in joy as they won't have to go to school in the coming days. They ran back to their homes as they thought of the best excuse to tell their parents about what happened: a gringo destroyed their homework.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Mason was skipping happily across town when police sirens blared loudly. Responding to the disturbance in the village several police cars swerved into Mason's direction and the fuzz spilled out of the cars with Kalashnikovs.<p>

"Manos Arribas!" they all ordered.

"E equals MC Hammer squared!" Mason ranted. "The value of pi is 3.14 plus infinity! SCREW PYTHAGORAS AND HE CAN SHOVE HIS THEORM UP HIS ASS! ARRRGGGHH!"

His wild ranting made the police piss their pants and they were too scared to fire as Mason charged at them.

"What should we do!?" screamed one of them.

"He's coming for us!" shrieked another as Mason barreled on.

"LEEROY JENKINS!" came the blood-curdling shriek of the insane gringo.

The police chief was torn between waiting for the inevitable or saving his own ass. He quickly decided on the latter, leaving his second-in-command in charge. "You're promoted!" he shouted. "I'll get reinforcements." He took off like a little girl.

Knowing the truth, the now-promoted senior office did what his survival instincts dictated: "Every man for himself!"

They all screamed and confusion ensued. Some of the fuzz ran off, others fired but their shots went wild, some of them ending up hitting their fellow officers. Some in the heads, others in the ass, all like chickens with their heads chopped off.

In the midst of the confusion, Mason jumped and joined in. With his PTSD fueled rampage, he found the first policeman he can found and grabbed him. The poor man had neither time to scream or crap himself as Mason snapped his neck like a boss. Another tried to shot him in full-auto but he ended up hitting the fuel tank of a car, which exploded, sending several more police flying in the air.

Some more police were backed into a corner by Mason, shaking in terror. One police decided to balls up and charge at Mason with his baton. Unfortunately for him, Mason kicked in the groin before tearing him to bloody pieces. Covered in blood, Mason jumped atop a demolished police cruiser and cackled madly.

"_El Diablo! El Diablo!" _shouted the fleeing policemen in terror while Mason gave chase. Then they heard a loud sound of a vehicle barreling down the road with a loud song blaring.

It's the _Guantanamera_ jeep!

The police stopped and cheered as the jeep approached them, thinking that its the first of the reinforcements promised by their sissy chief. Actually it wasn't. It just came to respond to a disturbance in the village and the policemen kept cheering until the jeep plowed into them and crunched them into the ground and the gunner on the back shot the rest with his DShK machinegun.

Mason saw _Guantanamera_ approached with guns blazing at him. He then epically backflipped off the cruiser and did a three-point landing. Then he charge at the cruiser he was standing on like a linebacker and he kicked it like it was a football.

The cruiser flew through air spinning into its side. The driver and gunner looked in astonishment at the vehicle flying towards them, which was the last thing they ever saw. In sloooow moooo...(Cue _We Will Meet Again_ by Vera Lynn).

Cruiser and jeep collided, exploding into a large mushroom cloud with a rain of blood, guts and metal parts. Now there's no more _Guantanamera_. Mason whooped loudly in victory. "YES!" he screamed, kneeling on the ground and looking in the heavens like it was a victory. "Mason, one! Commies and math teachers, ZERO!"

And Hudson approached him and whacked Mason in the head.

"Great, we got him," he said to the others. "Let's get the hell outta here." As they left, one can see the wake of Mason's destructive rampage, the dead police, the wrecked cars, and the smoking heap of _Guntanamera_ and its brave crew, who valiantly - and like dumbasses - charged into their deaths to stop Mason from preventing the glorious revolution of the proletariat.

* * *

><p>Mason felt his head swimming, almost like handover. Feeling groggy, he looked at everyone. He groaned. "Hey, guys, did I get into a party or what?"<p>

Hudson grabbed him by the collars and shook him like a ragdoll. "Mason, you idiot! You wrecked half a town, wiped out an entire police precinct, and nearly jeopardized the mission."

Mason looked like he was asked to do a math equation, and then he smiled. "Oh yeah, that was awesome. What a rush it is. I've never had that much fun since last year-"

"Last year was you talking to an imaginary friend named Reznov and almost setting the whole world on fire!" Hudson accused.

"And you nearly killed me with your bad breath!" Carlos angrily added.

"And you didn't kill Carlos enough for me to take his lottery tickets!" Weaver said. Knowing he just slipped, he hastily corrected, "Uh, I mean, you nearly had us killed and called me gay for using tobacco."

"Sorry, guys," Mason apologized, "that math teacher was blurting out numbers."

"What did they do to you, Mason?" Carlos asked. "Boring math lessons?"

Mason's face winced at that mention. "You have no idea..."

Then the radio in Hudson's back rang off. He picked it up. "Misson control?" he asked. "This is Snake." Their codename.

"Hudson's team," replied President Nixon. "This is your commander-in-chief."

Hudson stood up in attention. "Oh, sorry, sir. It's an honor to meet you."

"What's the holdup?" McNamara complained. "The fate of the world hangs on the balance."

"Sorry, sir. But we were seriously delayed by another one of Mason's outbursts of violence. Seriously, why is he still in active service?"

"He saved the world, son," Nixon replied. "He kicked the commies in the ass and he's our best hope we got. Besides the guy behind the Xbox controls."

"Yeah, but he punched you in the face when you awarded him the Intelligence Star," Hudson replied acidly, "after thinking that you're the boogieman with Stalin's ass for a face."

"Oh," the president grumbled, "now that's low blow, Hudson."

"Bite me, Dick."

"Listen, Hudson, when you get back from Cuba, I'm gonna screw you over."

"How?" Hudson smiled

Then McNamara intervened to keep the pissing match down. "Okay, I'm taking over." The Sec-Def took the floor. "Howdy, Hudson."

"Top of the morning, sir. You want a sit-rep? I have one, sir and it's called 'Mason is about to fuck up the mission again'!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," Hudson accused. "Mason's the biggest liability in the history of liabilities ever to be assigned to an extremely important mission."

"I thought you're the smart one. Being able to use even a spoon to assassinate a commie bureaucrat."

"Smart enough to know that he should be in Bellevue sucking pudding out of a straw!"

"We work with the tools with got," MacNamara said with finality.

"And the tools I've got kept on biting us in the ass and are annoying the hell out of me with one leap forward to a Cuban prison."

"Suck it up, boy," Nixon intervened. "You're still on mission." There was some loud crashing and screaming noise, followed by guttural roaring.

Hudson raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Sir, what's that?"

"Uh, nothing, Hudson. Just doing a little house cleaning."

"What-"

"Signing off."

"Sir? Sir?" He clicked on the radio twice. "Damn!"

The radio squawked again. "My frequency 140.85."

"Huh?" And the radio went silent.

* * *

><p>Back at the <em>Liberace<em>, things weren't quite well for Nixon and McNamara as they hid behind the conference table with much of the mission support staff. One of them peered his head above the table looking into the wrecked room with broken lights and trashed consoles with overhead lighting crackling electric sparks.

"Is it gone?" McNamara asked, cautiously looking up.

"I think it is, sir," replied the scared-shitless techie.

"What the hell was that thing?" McNamara asked quickly.

"How would I know, sir?" the techie responded. "That thing sucked Lester's brains out back in the kitchen."

"I don't but I think it's..." Nixon said ominously. "The Thing from Outer Space." Cue ominous fifties music.

McNamara rolled his eyes. "Oh please, that thing looks nothing like the cheesy fifties shit. I mean look at it. It's much worst."

"So what do we do now?" Nixon asked.

"We find that sucker and kill it," McNamara said firmly. He turned to the traumatized staff. "Okay, everyone, move your asses. I want the controls back online now, I want to get that SR-71 back on scene right now, and I want the pop corn popper and drinks dispenser up and running in two minutes. We need to continue the mission in Cuba and find that sucker aboard before it eats all." He clapped his hands loudly. "We need to get this show on the road, people. We need to light this sucker up now."

Everyone immediately got up and began to their task of restoring the ship to operational capacity to continue the mission... and hopefully not get eaten by that alien thing still out large on board. The crew practically crapped themselves out fear when that thing jumped out of the air vent over head and ate three crew member, then chased poor Lester in the kitchen to suck his brains.

As everyone was working again, McNamara ordered, "I want a sit-rep of the ship. I want anyone to tell where this sucker is last scene, now."

"How about the Cuba mission?" Nixon asked.

"The Cuba mission can wait," the Sec-Def replied. "What I don't want right now is that alien bastard to ruin the experience. We've got a Blackbird coming over right now and I want to set back and enjoy the show."

"Okay, we need to talk the security staff," Nixon suggested. Then on cue the master-at-arms appeared.

"_Mein herr_," the master-at-arms reported with a German accent.

"We need your men to comb the ship for that alien bastard. And with need it right now. Do where it is right now?"

"_Nein_," he promptly replied.

"Nine?" Nixon blurted in shock. "Whoa, look's like our work is now cut out for us."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile in Cuba, the team was making the finishing touches to their makeshift tool to short-circuit the fence.<p>

"Okay..." Hudson said quietly, adding the finishing touches. "That. Does. It." He turned to Weaver and Mason. "Okay. Weaver, Mason. Listen up. We need you two to short circuit the fence long enough for me and Carlos to cut it." He snapped the wire cutters twice with emphasis. "Any questions?"

"Uh, yes," Mason excitedly raised his hand.

"On second thought," Hudson cut in, "no. Okay, dismissed!"

They moved out to the fence. Mason and Weaver held high a large pole consisting of a metal pole and a wooden stick stuck end on end with duck tape. On its back was a tank full of water, used for some unknown reason in Hudson's plan. One the end of the stake was a very stout, curved, and thick copper wire tied near the end of the stake. Weaver and Hudson laid on the grass, ready to sprint forward to cut the wires.

"Okay, guys," Hudson called out. "Hook it."

Carlos tapped the ice cube's shoulder with a look that had 'oh, crap!' all over it. "Hudson, look." He handed him a pair of binoculars. Hudson peered through at the plantation and noticed something. The plants clearly were pineapples but the fruits were a *_very*_ different sort of pineapple.

They were oversized, pineapple grenades.

"Oh dear...," Hudson said whimsically, masking the dread of an impending disaster at the making.

Totally clueless of what's behind the fence, Mason and Weaver carefully hooked the contraption to the wire - and disaster struck.

"Upsy-daisy," Mason muttered as he carefully slipped in the hook on bottom wire and the cloth tying the stick and pole came loss. "Shit!" He sprung to grab it.

"Mason, no!" Weaver shouted but too late. Mason grabbed the pole and the power from the fence surged through the pole and into his body, lighting him up like Time Square on New Years Eve, screaming like a little girl and dancing erratically. Worst, the tank taped on the pole was not water but gasoline which Weaver filled in by accident.

It resulted in huge explosion that turned Mason into Time Square on napalm! The power surge turned for the worse, with all of it running into from the fence into practically the entire power gird of a nearby city, blacking it out. It was a shock for many people as they can't watch Fidel Castro's address to the nation, which caused them to a big collective "NO!"

The electricity jumped from the wires in arcs, hitting the vast, uh, pineapple grenades. It turned into a chain reaction and fireworks display that eventually reached the processing plant, resulting in a cataclysmic explosion that literally caused an earthquake. A huge mushroom cloud with the face of a skull can be seen from Havana and as far as Miami.

After a few long minutes, the smoke cleared and the dust settled with our heroes coughing in fits. "Christ!" Weaver screeched. "What the hell as that!?"

"We just ignited a grenade plantation," Carlos coughed.

"Really!?" Weaver could not believe his ears.

"What? You think I'm screwing with you? It's what caused the explosion."

Weaver raged at him, "Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"I didn't know until I took a look at it again." The two continued to argue while Hudson surveyed the resulting damage done to the environment. Said damage was a huge smoking crater. He also noticed something.

"Has anyone seen Mason?" he asked.

The two stopped arguing and said together, "No."

Hudson's face brightened up in the biggest smile he ever had in his life. "_Good riddance_."

"I'm here, Hudson," Mason quipped happily.

That caused Hudson to jump in shock. "Gyah! How are you still alive!?"

* * *

><p>AN: Oh, Mason did it again and survived. How would our heroes put up with him and his hate for math.


End file.
